


Nothing Less

by prototyping



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Prompt Fic, quick fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: Before long, he hears her approaching and he has to bite back a snarl, a condescending remark, a rejection. He told her she isn’t worth his time and he needs to stick by that.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 106





	Nothing Less

**Author's Note:**

> Done for Flufftober day 18, “things left unsaid.”

She finds him after the battle a good distance from the camp, seated in the deep shade of a tree as he tends to his wound.

How she tracked him, why she would bother, Dimitri doesn’t care nor ask. Other than leaping to his feet and rounding on her with his lance raised, and then a glare and a dismissive snort when he realizes there’s no threat, he doesn’t give her any attention. He returns to tending to his bleeding shoulder, although habit prompts him to sit with his good eye keeping her in the corner of his sight. Even though he knows better, that she would kill him face-to-face in a fight if she’s ever driven to kill him at all, five years and the rest of his scars have hammered too much awareness into both his body and his mind. Now, especially, lacking any armor above his waist, he feels uncomfortably vulnerable. He can’t make any exceptions.

Byleth watches him in silence. He ignores her, gritting his teeth as he presses stinging herbs into the open wound, and then setting about his clumsy attempts at wrapping the injury. Before long, he hears her approaching and he has to bite back a snarl, a condescending remark, a rejection. He told her she isn’t worth his time and he needs to stick by that.

He continues ignoring her even when she kneels beside him. Only when she reaches for him does he react, snatching her wrist to stop her before even he realizes it. It probably looks intentional with the withering glare he shoots her, but he notices the discomfort in her posture－her face is carefully neutral again, as it often is lately－and shoves her hand away just as quickly.

He returns to his task. She lingers.

She tries again, reaching more slowly. This time Dimitri manages to smother the reflex, even if his disdain is still plain on his face as he watches her. It’s Byleth’s turn to ignore him, her attention on the healing spell in her fingers.

Despite the calm in her expression, there’s something sad in her eyes. It’s a distant, haunted look, the kind that would have once prompted Dimitri to inquire if she was alright, to offer an ear if she needed it, because it would have once broken his heart to think she could be hurting without knowing how to handle such an emotional weight.

Dimitri withholds another snort as he turns away. It’s a mild, breezy day for summer, but the air between them feels cold and heavy.

The wound isn’t deep, so her light spell is more than enough to seal the skin and do away with most of the pain. He’s familiar enough with such injuries by now to know it won’t hinder him in battle, which is really all that matters, although he’ll need to avoid stressing it when idle.

The instant the spell fades, he’s on his feet without so much as a backward glance. He dons his shirt and his armor, his gauntlets, his gloves, with practiced and efficient motions that take him only moments despite the dull throb in his shoulder. Still Byleth lingers, but he doesn’t feel her eyes on him. He catches a glimpse of her staring into the forest and knows she’s watching his back while he’s preoccupied.

When Dimitri turns around, he finds he can’t bring himself to look at her. It’s almost like it used to be, except instead of fearing that she’ll see right through his stare to the feelings behind it, he’s reluctant to see in her eyes what she isn’t saying out loud. He knows what he would find.

He starts back towards camp and Byleth falls into step a couple paces behind him on his left, far enough that she doesn’t crowd him but close enough that he’ll still see her in his peripheral. He doesn’t doubt that it’s intentional on both ends and he’s equally impressed and annoyed by her consideration.

Neither of them says a thing on the way back. At the edge of the camp, Byleth breaks away first without a word and Dimitri, in spite of himself, watches her go. He should be glad he’s managed to push her away this far, her and those inane remarks and ignorant attempts to coax him back into the man she _wants_ him to be. He should be satisfied with her silence. Instead, that pit inside him only feels deeper, colder, angrier.

It doesn’t matter if she says those things or not. He sees them in her face, in her actions, and most of all in those sad eyes that refuse to harden when she looks at him. Unlike him, she’s too good to do anything except what she believes in—even if what she believes in is a lost cause.

Dimitri huffs irritably, but it’s lackluster, almost soft. It’s not as though her kindness—her dedication, her stubbornness—come as a surprise.

Not when they’re just a few of the reasons he fell as hard as he did.


End file.
